


Jinnee

by yuukasatoe



Category: Real Person Fiction, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Dreams, Gen, Introspection, Lucid Dreaming, Meta, Paradox, i swear it's not as messed up as it sounds, it's pretty weird i don't really know how to tag this welp, ningen shikkaku, no longer human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuukasatoe/pseuds/yuukasatoe
Summary: A correlation between dreams & reality; between one Dazai Osamu & another; between fiction & history.
(basically my hypothesis on how the entire BSD fits in with the real world and also because I got very inspired to write about dreams after having a very lucid one)





	

**Author's Note:**

> lol I wrote this way before Bungou to Alchemist was released (god bless that game) so yeah the other Dazai is really the actual, historical Dazai Osamu.

Sometimes, dreams can get pretty realistic. At first you’re vaguely aware of being in a pseudo-reality concocted by your subconscious mind. Then slowly, you learn about this world. Memories, false memories, get implanted into your head — of people, of personalities, of places from this new reality. Time begins to flow in this universe, and you with it, as you discover your own backstory to your new existence here. Without yourself realising it, you get inexplicably immersed in this second life, and soon you’re living your role out as naturally as sunlight shining upon the earth’s surface, with instincts and quasi-memories as your only guideposts. You forget your other self — your real self — as you unknowingly submit to this dreamscape; irreversibly convinced that this self, this present existence, is undeniably reality, you continue to live.

For some reason, it is always at this stage of absolute engrossment that a drastic twist of events should occur. Impossible by any logical degree, reigned over by only the mind’s capricious folly, an unseen force from within your subliminal psyche creates a paradigm shift in landscape, jolting you back into the dimension you’ve long lost awareness of. 

As this transaction concludes, all under a split second, you open your eyes, your mind in hazed confusion until the disorientation settles. You calibrate yourself to your present environment. You recall the name and purpose of this real self — until the most recent moment foreign to you — with little effort, yet you struggle to grasp the wispy remnants of the images and sensations of the past world once so real to you. These remains silently fade, like alcohol on warm skin, and the sense of wonder you had dissipates alongside them. You transit into complete wakefulness, and you think, ‘what a dream.’

Indeed, dreams can get pretty realistic, to the point it gets hard to discern it from reality.

Doesn’t it?

~

「グッド　バイ」

It is his unfinished piece. His final piece. He mildly regrets leaving it as it is; a full-fledged author never leaves work half-heartedly uncompleted. It can’t be helped, he thinks.

The time has come for him to go; he’s sure of it. It’s a calling from within him, from the very core of his soul down to every bone in this body. Not unlike the incident at Kamakura or the one with Dial, he submits unquestioningly to this force so quietly and charismatically calling out to him.

It’s cold, he thinks, and remembers that it is raining. Not that it matters. The black darkness — both comforting and eerie at once — swarms around him, overwhelming his vision.

It’s funny how, amidst the cold against his skin, he thinks of his daughters at this time. Sonoko would be seven. Satoko would be turning one soon — or has she already?

It’s funny how, despite having abandoned them, despite being surrounded by desolation and darkness, he prays for them. He wishes for their good health and blessed future.

It’s also funny how he gives no thought or wishes to his son (Ma… Masaki, was it?) nor his wife. He has no intentions to give any, either.

Humans are strange, aren’t they? His mind whirls in a haphazard mess of chagrined thoughts: on humanity, on family, and on life.

He would keep going on about this, but his body would hold no more.

Turning his head, he catches sight of her vague silhouette. It’s in a distance, shielded by a veil of murky water. She drifts away with the currents, further from him, eyes closed (forever). He chuckles weakly, shutting his eyes. Spreading his arms wide, he liberates all air from his chest as he welcomes, from the ruthless waters of the Tamagawa Canal, the dark, the pain, and the end brought together with it.

「人間失格」

Tomie said that with this final act, he would realise the essence of this title.

She might be right, somewhat. Although really, he thinks he has identified with it all his life.

~

He opened his eyes, and squinted against the brilliant amber sky. A cold draft blew by, and he shivered.

Blinking twice, he tried to calm the maelstrom of hazed thoughts in his mind, and ventured to list some simple words in an attempt to clear this disorientation.

Evening.

Cold.

Soaked. (Jacket — a precious gift — completely soaked.)

River.

Something about work and a tiger. Tiger work?

Sniffing softly, he groaned, a scowl forming between his brows.

—  _Tomie._ The word flew abruptly into his head.

Who?

—  _D-Double Suicide._

Ah. He recalled with completely understanding — it was from the dream he just had. Hmm. He found that he could barely retain any traces of it though, and was mildly vexed that it had just flown out of his head so quickly. Still, the thought of having committed double suicide (with such a beauty, no less) left him with a tinge of satisfaction.

What a dream.

He muses, as he overcomes his temporary amnesia quickly and remembers everything important. ( _I am Dazai, I am looking for a tiger, and Ranpo still owes me beer._ )

_Oh, I might have failed again._

With an exasperated groan, he sat up.

“Uwah!”, came a frightened cry from his side.

He turned, irked at his foiled plans, and threw an indiscriminate glare at the perpetrator of this misdeed. “You saved me?”

A nod.

“Tch.” He grimaced, then pouted.

Exchanging a few meaningless words with this scrawny, pale-haired boy, he felt his ill temper hastily dissipate, a sly grin creeping upon his lips. He had an idea.

And as usual, it worked. That was to be expected, of course, from someone of his caliber. In under five hours the deed was done, job dealt with ( _tiger found_ ) and valuable new member recruited ( _tiger employed_ ).

As he sank into his bed, he hummed merrily a tune of his own composition (entitled “ _Double Suicide_ ”), hands beneath his pillow in support of his head. He closed his eyes, comtemplating if the oil barrel idea would really work. And maybe he could find some way to deal with Akutagawa-kun as well, at last.

~

He awakes to sunlight filtering into his room. It takes more than a few blinks for him to associate himself with his surroundings.

“Breakfast is ready, dear.”

Who’s that? He wonders quietly. A gutteral and non-committal grunt escapes him in flippant response.

He tries to recall parts of his haphazard yet extraordinary dream. A world where detectives (‘Armed Detectives’), abilities and scientifically advanced tools (portable telephones, for instance) weave together in intricate synchronicity. It dominates his mind temporarily. Enthrals him with its bewitching wonder. 

What. A. Dream.

But unsurprisingly, it, too, is hastily dispelled. With that goes some wonderful story material. Albeit his efforts to retain them they still insist on evanesce. An unspeakable bleakness seeps into his chest at the mind’s ineluctable weakness. In his angst, his despair against the human race — biologically and socially — is fuelled.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, his hand brushes against a thin book. It lies arbitrarily on the tatami mat by the futon.

「文芸的な、余りに文芸的な」

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke’s final work before he took his own life. He feels a smile creep upon his cheek. A mirthless smile. He ponders on how his revered idol spent the last few moments of his life indulging in literature. His one and only passion.

Indeed, he thinks, it is pitiable how no one was able to understand the deranged man. Even until the very end. He was a prodigious writer, but his mental illness set him aside from society. In their eyes he was barely — no longer — human. Decreed a pariah and misunderstood by the body of humans deemed as ‘society’. Yet is he not human, biologically? What, then, constitutes to being a human in this ‘society’?

The shoji door slides open. A well-groomed lady steps in elegantly. “Breakfast is ready, dear.”

“Tomie,” he mumbles, “I love you.”

She chuckles, unanswering.

He continues. “Tomie,” he breathes, “would you commit double suicide with me?”

She looks at him, smile unwavering. “Are you finally going to give up humanity,” she asks, “by dragging this beautiful lady down with you?”

“Yes.”

“Truly, you have no right to be human, you terrible man.” She says with amusement in her voice. Her cheery smile remains radiant, yet it harbours a quiet sorrow that mirrors his own.

“So?” He asks again, anxious.

She beams. “With pleasure, you fool.” An affectionate answer. It brims with the weight of remorseless sin, yet is unburdened by the freight of life.

He smiles, relieved. Thunder booms in a distance, and dark clouds spread across the sky.

“Let’s go.”

“Alright.”

He wonders who he will think of when he reaches death’s door. He wonders if this will release him from the shackles of humanity, at last. He also wonders if after this, when he’s cold and motionless and at the bottom of this river, he will open his eyes to see another world, live in another realm; like the incredible universe in his dreamscape. He wonders if he will get a second chance at life.

Head filled with such thoughts, as the sky roars and pours overhead, he removes his coat. He helps Tomie undo her sash, and watches her place it neatly by a rock. Without any hesitation henceforth, he plunges himself headfirst into the dark, chilling waters of the Tamagawa.

「グッド　バイ」

~

Sometimes, dreams can get pretty realistic. They can create a whole world of their own, and it’s almost as if you can fully exist inside it while forgetting about the outside — the real — world.

In fact, sometimes, you can’t even discern what’s dream and what’s reality.

**Can you?**

 

**Author's Note:**

> bwahahahaha *mindblown*


End file.
